


The Truth Comes Out

by 0Rocky41_7



Series: Dancing Naked in the Moonlight [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Forgiveness, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Rogue Hawke (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 23:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20984390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Rocky41_7/pseuds/0Rocky41_7
Summary: Orsino reveals the truth about Quentin and worries about Hawke’s support for the mage cause.





	The Truth Comes Out

**Author's Note:**

> See more about Hawke on her [tumblr tag.](https://imakemywings.tumblr.com/tagged/theodora%20hawke)

The Truth

“You knew the man who killed my mother.” The Champion’s voice was soft, but Orsino was not deceived for a moment. When she lifted her eyes, he remembered this was the woman who had voluntarily walked into the Qunari compound to tell the Arishok that his most prized, sacred relic was gone, stolen out from underneath him— again.

“I didn’t know the extent of what he was doing.” Orsino wanted to look away from her, but he forced himself to hold her gaze, as though he might spur her to attack by showing weakness.

“But you knew there was blood magic.” The softness was seeping out of the Champion’s voice: the shock was wearing off. “You knew what he was studying.”

“I knew…some of it,” he said. “He pushed boundaries, against what the Templars and the Chantry would consider acceptable, but how long have they stifled research that might be useful because of what they fear?”

“Meredith is right.” Shock reverberated through the Champion again, sparing him a few more moments from the full extent of her temper. “You _are_ harboring blood mages.”

“No! Quentin was…alone in his…research. Don’t you see? I couldn’t turn him in—Meredith would have used it to invoke the Rite of Annulment!”

“Might have! She might have! You know what _did_ happen? My mother died! She died in agony, she was tortured by a madman and her body was desecrated and…and…!” The Champion began to pace in agitation, then looked up at him with a terrible, awful smile. “I should have known, huh? You are a slippery one. Should have known you’d play any card to keep Meredith off your back.”

“She has backed me into a corner,” Orsino defended himself. “If I do nothing, blood magic proliferates in the city. If I tell her, she will use it to slay every mage within these walls, guilty or not. Either way, people are dying.”

“You knew. You knew all this time.”

“That’s why I’m telling you,” he pleaded. “I’m trying to be honest with you, Hawke.”

“Don’t call me that.” Again, she seemed to struggle with words, struggle to pin down a tone or phrase or feeling. “Why now? Why choose to tell me now? You could have gone the rest of our lives never saying anything about it.”

“I didn’t want to lie to you,” he said. “It felt like a lie.”

“Do you know? How hard I worked to track him down, how many demons I fought to get to her, only to get there too late? To see what he had done to her? Do you know what bodies in that state of decay with that kind of preservation smell like? I do. There’s a fun fact! One I’ll never forget!”

“Please, if I had known what I was doing, I never would have given him anything!”

“It was your _job_ to know,” she said, her voice rising. “You’re the First Enchanter. It’s your _job_. He was under your care, even after fleeing the Circle! Andraste’s holy ass, is there not one honest person in this shithole city?” She jerked a hand back through her hair, a flush in her face. “Of course you knew. Of course! Why wouldn’t you know?” She tittered hysterically. “Why should I have ever thought you didn’t know?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, clasping his hands together. “What he did was horrific, I never would have condoned it—I would have turned him over to the Templars if I knew what he was trying to do.”

“Would you? It’s easy to say what you would have done, isn’t it? If Carver had lived, I would have fought with him less! If we had never come to Kirkwall, I would have made a fortune! If I had never met you, I would sleep through the night! See?”

“Champion—”

“Stop.” The Champion held up a hand and silenced him. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear anything. I’ve spent years trying to get away from that day, and every time I walk back into my empty house, I remember it. I don’t need any other reminders. Go _fuck_ yourself, Orsino.” With that, she took her leave from his office. Orsino promptly poured himself a cup of wine and sat down at his desk with the pitcher.

“Well that could have gone worse,” he said aloud, taking a long drink. He snorted and slouched down in his seat. Of course. Of course he would be denied Hawke’s company. Naturally, Quentin had to have murdered Hawke’s mother. It wasn’t possible to condone the man’s actions, but if he had stopped short of becoming a serial killer, Orsino might have had the chance to discuss the realities of blood magic with Hawke. He understood the kneejerk rejection of it; he used to share it. But there was more to it than that! Not that Quentin had ultimately done anything but prove everyone’s fears justified. Orsino downed the rest of his cup and poured himself another.

Being honest—what had that ever gained him? What fool notion had possessed him to think he could talk through having unknowingly supported Leandra Hawke’s murderer? In what twisted world would Hawke not react furiously to finding out the man she had been sleeping with had had a hand in the death of her only remaining immediate family member?

“I don’t regret it though,” he murmured. That, he was half-surprised to find, was true. The alternative—continuing in his affair with the Champion with full knowledge of what he had done, while never revealing it to her—was untenable. He was not that kind of man, he didn’t want to be. If Hawke hated him now…well, she could get in line with most of the city.

***

The Champion vanished off the roster of Orsino’s visitors, to no surprise. Every time there was an unplanned knock at his door, he hoped he would see Hawke’s jaunty bob cut and mischievous eyes, but it was never so. Too often, he ran across things, or had thoughts he would have shared with her, if she ever returned. Nightly, he lay alone in the vast bed and recalled the shadow of her laying there beside him. His hands ached to reach out and touch her, to feel her warmth beneath his fingers. His conscience was haunted by the question of whether or not Hawke was right. What if he had become too permissive in his quest to protect the mages from persecution?

When he saw her next, it was in the courtyard of the Gallows. She was speaking with Solivitus about exotic potions. He considered passing by without addressing her, but while he lingered making the decision, Solivitus called out to him.

“First Enchanter! Fine morning, isn’t it? Can I interest you in anything today?”

“First Enchanter.” The Champion greeted him rigidly, barely acknowledging him.

“Champion.” He gave her a nod and clasped his hands behind his back as he turned to Solivitus. “I’ll take a look.” He didn’t need anything, but there was no sense rushing away—he had missed his chance to slip by unnoticed. Perhaps Hawke would be willing to talk.

There was a gash on her cheek, just barely scabbed over, and a few smaller scrapes on her chin. “Looks like you’ve been busy, Champion,” he said after a few moments of picking through Solivitus’ wares.

“Mm. Can’t sleep without at least one knife wound,” she said, but she did not look at him.

“Perhaps you should have that looked at,” he said, fighting the impulse to reach out to touch her face. “If you wanted, I could—”

“No, thank you, First Enchanter,” she interrupted. “I have someone for that already.”

“Could I interest you in a rock armor potion today, First Enchanter?” Solivitus gestured towards a box of displayed bottles. “Excellent for practicing with apprentices. Teach them to break through any armor!”

“No, thank you, Solivitus,” Orsino replied, as evenly and politely as he could. “Are you sure that will be sufficient?” he asked the Champion.

“Has been so far,” she said curtly. She went on sorting through a stack of herbs on the table. Orsino picked up an orange bottle and turned it over without managing to read the label at all.

“An excellent choice, First Enchanter!” Solivitus exclaimed. “That’s the finest electrical defense potion you’ll find in the city. I can offer it at a special price for the leader of the Circle of Magi too!” Orsino set the potion down.

“Fighting bandits again?” he asked the Champion.

“Does it matter?”

“It might.”

“I’m keeping the city safe as best I can,” she replied. “Which is more than I can say for some people.”

“How about some of my home-brewed mana restoration tonics, First Enchanter?” Solivitus waved a blue bottle around. “Hands down the most restorative tonic on the market today.”

“Yes, thank you,” Orsino said wearily. “I’ll take a dozen of those.” He looked back at the Champion, who was picking through Solivutus’ collection of healing potions. “I’m sorry…for any injuries you’ve received,” he said.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing new to me,” the Champion chirped, a biting undercurrent of resentment dragging down her perky tone. “I’m used to it. But somehow, injuries from an unexpected source always hurt more, don’t you find? It’s one thing for a stranger to take a knife to me, but for someone I know!” She laughed and Orsino cringed inwardly. Solivitus was busy packing up a crate with the mana tonics.

“You’re very right, Champion,” he acknowledged. “But I’m certain your friends would never intentionally cause you harm.”

“Does it hurt less when it’s unintentional?” she asked. “Isn’t the end the same?”

“I find intention matters a great deal,” he answered.

“You would, First Enchanter.”

“Anything else I can get for you today, First Enchanter?” Solivitus asked. Orsino wrestled down the urge to hit the man with a sleeping spell.

“No, thank you, Solivitus.” The Champion was pushing a few bottles towards Solivitus for purchase. The gloves she wore were new—they left her fingertips free. For the dexterity, he imagined. As a dual-weapon wielder, she made up for her lack of brute strength with deadly speed. The Darkspawn in the Deep Roads probably never knew what hit them. He wondered if the open gloves left her hands cold. “I suppose mistakes like that are why the Chantry believes in penance,” he remarked.

“Maybe you should talk to a Chantry sister about it,” Hawke retorted, gathering up her bottles and sliding them into her bag.

“I’m curious about your opinion, Champion.”

“On what? The concept of penance?”

“Generally speaking,” he said.

“I think the size of the penance depends on the crime,” she said. “And it’s useless without _genuine_ regret.”

“So intention does matter?” The Champion scowled and slapped her coins down on Solivitus’ table.

“Perhaps to the Maker,” she said. “But he is far more forgiving than most of us.” His time was running out; the Champion was looking for a way out. 

“Here are your potions, First Enchanter!” Solivitus hefted the crate over to Orsino, possibly to remind him he had not paid up. He dropped a gold piece into Solivitus’ eager palm and picked up the small crate. Inside, the mana tonics were nestled cozily into a bed of stringy straw. “Thank you for your business and do come back if I can help you with anything else!” The Champion had taken the moment of his receiving the crate to start moving away. Mumbling thanks to Solivitus, he hurried after her.

“There is no hope in your mind, then?” he said and saw the Champion disguise the moment she rolled her eyes. “For forgiveness?”

“That depends on the sin,” she said, glaring. She wanted to drive him away, but it had been weeks since he had seen her last, and he could not let her cow him that easily. He had only until she reached the gates of the Gallows to speak with her anyway—anything beyond that was out of his reach.

“Some things are unforgivable?”

“Yes, I think so,” she said.

“No matter the penance?”

“How should I know?” she snapped at last. “Do I look like a philosopher to you? Go talk to Grand Cleric Elthina if you have so many questions! Good _day_, First Enchanter!” She quickened her step and this time, Orsino let her go.

***

It was less time, before his next encounter with the Champion. Once again, he walked through the main hall of the office wing of the Gallows to the sound of the Knight-Commander shouting in her office. He couldn’t make out the words—she had not yet reached peak volume—but he could pity the sod inside. Aging hadn’t done a thing to diminish Meredith’s ferocity. The door popped open just before he reached his office, emitting the Champion of Kirkwall, followed by the banshee herself.

“First Enchanter,” she greeted him with a curled lip.

“Knight-Commander,” he answered. “Champion.”

“First Enchanter.” Hawke flashed a smile he knew she didn’t feel. Keeping up appearances for Meredith? Would it not please the Knight-Commander to think he and the Champion had had a falling out?

“Remember this, Champion,” Meredith instructed the Champion, gesturing with her finger like Hawke was a wayward apprentice. “I want you to remember my generosity.”

“Is that what we’re calling this?” the Champion asked. Meredith’s flinty stare bore down on Hawke, but didn’t even dent the roguish little smile on her lips. If she was afraid, she kept it to herself.

“Remember it.” The Knight Commander gestured towards the exit and shut herself back in her office. As soon as she was gone, Hawke’s amused resting facial expression vanished.

“Champion.” He stood aside for her to pass. Hawke paused a moment, appraising him. His breath caught in his chest at the notion she might speak, but she did not. She fixed her gaze back on the door and walked by as if there were no one there at all.

***

It was thus a surprise when he received a note from her, requesting his presence in the Gallows courtyard in the afternoon. Over a month had passed since he first revealed to her his knowledge of Quentin and he had begun settling into the grim status quo that the Champion was no longer a part of his life. The whispers that reached his ears from the mage underground reassured him that she did not (yet) mean to abandon the mage cause as a whole, merely cut out her association with him. As distressing as that was, it could have been far worse, and he was relieved that she would not paint all mages with a black brush based off the First Enchanter’s actions.

But of course she wouldn’t, he thought to himself. _She isn’t Meredith_. He had begun beguiling the Champion to his cause by playing on her compassion. Despite her feckless attitude, her actions told of someone who cared for the well-being of the city, and the people inside it. She understood the injustices the mages faced. If Orsino and his failures threatened to turn her away, he was sure the memory of her sister could help cleave her to the cause.

Maybe her note was in that vein—the continuation of their partnership to defend the rights of mages against the encroachment of the Templar Order. It was something he could accept, but a yearning part of him still clung to the possibility that she was willing to talk on a more personal level. The association with Quentin was a damning mark against him, he was well aware—but did his efforts to save lives outside of that not counter it? Did she know he had come into his position striving to lower the rate of suicide among Kirkwall’s mages?

The sun was shining in the courtyard when he left the Circle, beaming down the barest hint of summer’s remnants on the citizens about that day—the Tranquil hawking wares or standing about aimlessly, the armorers and weaponsmiths, the Templars, the travelers. It was an unusually gentle day for Kirkwall—the weather rarely favored them that way. The Champion was over by the gate, sitting on a barrel, her face tilted up towards the sunlight. Warmth swept through the First Enchanter, accompanied with eagerness and anxiety in equal measure. Even if she meant not to come see him at the Circle anymore! If she would only keep visiting the office, so they could speak as they had before he had first known the taste of her lips! This, he told himself, he would be content with.

He wished she would stay as she was, with her head back and her eyes closed, until he reached her, but the Maker had run out of favors for Orsino as far as the Champion was concerned. She lowered her chin and opened her eyes to see his approach, again regarding him with that appraising look.

“First Enchanter,” she said, spreading her legs apart to rest her hands on the rim of the barrel. “You came.”

“Of course, Champion.” He gave her a slight bow. “I would not ignore a message of yours.”

“I’ll get to the point then, I hate wasting time.” She let out a long sigh and looked up at the sky for a moment. “I don’t want to hate you,” she said. “I do, but I don’t. I want to hate anyone that had a hand in what happened to my mother and those other women. But I don’t want to hate _you_, if you see what I mean.”

“Yes,” he said, swallowing to soothe the dryness in his throat.

“I want to believe what you said in your office. That you didn’t know. That you would have done differently if you had. And since I can’t prove it one way or another, I will choose to believe that. But I need you to understand.” Her face was as serious as he had ever seen her; in the face of the Knight-Commander’s wrath she had not been so grave. “I need you to understand that my mother was mutilated and defiled, along with Quentin’s other victims. I will live the rest of my life with the memory of her dying in my arms, looking at me with a stranger’s eyes.” She took a breath. “That is something I will never escape. None of the families who were affected by him will ever forget what he did to their loved ones. How they suffered. I need you to understand that.”

“Believe me, I do,” he murmured, lowering his head. “It is yet another one of my failures.” He stood there, head bowed, unspeaking, as if awaiting benediction.

“Then I will forgive you,” she said. “I need to, for myself. My mother did not die angry; I won’t either.” Orsino looked up at the troubled expression on the Champion’s face. She was so young! So young to have seen so much tragedy and responsibility! She was trying—she wanted to live up to her legend. Someday, he worried, it would kill her. The Champion slid off the barrel. “If I hear of anything else like this,” she said, “our partnership will be at an end.” She snapped her fingers. “Poof. Smoke. Like Asha’bellanar, and Lothering.” She smiled in a way that was not at all reassuring. 

“It will not happen again, Champion. I was…short-sighted when it came to him. I will not make that mistake again.” Underestimating the extent of Quentin’s deterioration had been a critical misstep. If he had ever known the man was using live test subjects—if he had known what his goal was—he would have cut off communication with him far sooner.

“Well aren’t we all peachy then?” She smiled again, with much less of a threat in it. “Good talk, First Enchanter.” She clapped a hand on his arm. “And good job not bludgeoning Solivitus in the head the other day.”

“It was temping, make no mistake.” Hawke’s moods changed so rapidly sometimes he couldn’t tell if she was just pulling that sarcastic mask back over her face, or whether she was genuinely unruffled. “But it didn’t seem like the best way to persuade you to conversation.”

“Might’ve been funny though,” she said. Orsino was not sure if she meant him to laugh at this or not, and there was just an awkward pause before she said, “I suppose I should let you get back to work, First Enchanter.” Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief at her neutral tone. Was it that easy for things to go back to the way they had been?

“I would not want to keep you, Champion,” he said. “I know your days are long.”

“Not as long as my nights,” she said with a wink and a grin.

“With all the tracking you do on bandits and cutthroats, I imagine your nights are long as well,” he said, not rising to the bait. Half the things that came out of the Champion’s mouth were quips or puns with no purpose.

“They really are,” she said, a tired expression passing over her face. “We’ve ousted Redwater Teeth from the docks! That will be useful for—lots of things.” He wanted to pry, but was wary of pressing the Champion so soon after she had relented in despising him.

“Come by my office when you have time,” he said. “We’ll discuss the docks.”

“Of course, First Enchanter,” she said. “It would be my pleasure.”

***

When she did make it to his office, it was not the docks he wanted to discuss, but her choice. They exchanged pleasantries and the Champion yammered on about nothing of relevance while Orsino decided whether he was going to ask her about it or not.

“Why did you let it go?” he asked, and Hawke stopped talking about how Fenris hated it when the elves in the alienage would try to talk to him.

“Let what go?” she asked.

“Quentin.” The Champion shrugged.

“Being angry and hating people takes a lot of effort, and I have better things to do.” She tilted the chair back on its rear legs, something Orsino had told her a thousand times not to do, not least of all because she used his desk to balance her weight with her foot while she did it. “And if I hated you, I’d have to stop coming here. I didn’t want to do that.”

“You didn’t?” The yearning thing fluttered in his breast and made it difficult to breathe.

“No.” She glanced away, playing with the strings on her gauntlets. “You haven’t cast some kind of spell over me, have you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Champion,” he said, putting his hands up. “Well, aside from the ones you like…” That made her laugh, and Orsino relaxed for the first time since she had entered his office.

“That’s fair,” she said with a smile. “You do have some very…useful ones.”

“I would agree,” he said. “They’re quite possibly the most useful spells I have.” Hawke grinned and brought her chair back down on all four legs.

“You flatter me, First Enchanter,” she cooed.

“Hardly,” he said. “I speak only the truth, Champion.”

“We’ll see about that later,” she said, jabbing a finger in his direction. Then she glanced around and withdrew a scroll from her tunic and set it on the desk. “As for now, I have some equally thrilling and illicit news for you.” Orsino’s attention turned to the scroll. The Champion gave a tiny nod and he unfurled it, revealing what appeared to be a list of numbers. Coordinates? “Drop points,” she said quietly, leaning in over the desk so he could still hear her.

“For what?” he asked, looking up.

“Mages,” she announced in a whisper. “You were right. We must do what we can to improve life in the Circle. But when mages here face death or Tranquility for the smallest infractions…we must have a last resort. With the Redwater Teeth out of the docks, we’ve regained these three points here.” She gestured to the relevant coordinates. Orsino’s heart began to race.

“You would support this?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“After what I’ve seen here? Yes, I would,” she said. “We can’t have any more Ediths or Marillions. I can’t believe the Chantry honestly believes the Maker wants to see mages driven to suicide because the Templars can’t see fit to treat them like people, not prisoners.”

“Your public support—”

“—would force Meredith to rally the Templar Order against you,” she said. “But this gives us the ability to help the mages worst off while we work on reining in the Templars.”

“This is dangerous, Hawke,” he warned her, trying to keep his voice steady. _An out, an out, a back-up plan! _“If Meredith finds out about this, it won’t matter that you’re the Champion. She’ll have you executed, unless the Chantry can stop her. And they probably won’t.” An irresistibly roguish grin spread across Hawke’s face.

“First Enchanter,” she said, “daredevil stunts and death-defying miracles are my career of choice.” He looked into her eyes, into the soul of a woman willing to risk everything to help the people he had been so desperately and vainly trying to keep alive for two decades, and nearly swooned. He rose from his seat to cup her cheek with one hand and kiss her with wild joy. “Jeepers, First Enchanter,” she said in a playfully reprimanding voice when he had drawn back. A subtle but delightful blush warmed her cheeks.

“You are one of a kind, Hawke,” he said sincerely.

“I am, aren’t I?” She smiled broadly and put a hand over his. “We’ll do what we can,” she promised. “If Bethany had been in there…I would do anything to get her out of there.”

“She was lucky to have you,” he said. Hawke shook her head.

“No, she would have been luckier to have someone else. I couldn’t save her. But I can try to save some of these kids. I can spare someone else that pain, maybe.”

“You are truly…” Orsino tried to think of an appropriate word to describe the Maker-sent miracle of Hawke’s support, but nothing seemed adequate or appropriate, so he just kissed her again and hoped that conveyed it. “The mages will call you Champion forever for this,” he said. “I know I will.”

“That’s all the payment I need,” she joked.

**Author's Note:**

> In any iteration of this pairing that's more than fuck buddies, you know this discussion HAS to come up. How much you buy into Orsino's explanation is up to you. I think he probably is not as honest as he could be about how willing he was to support Quentin's research (outright murder excepted).
> 
> [On tumblr](https://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/188270348905/fandom-dragon-age-2-pairing-orsino-x-fhawke)  
[On Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/872079)


End file.
